


Preposterous Cyborg Cock

by ButterflyGhost



Category: due South
Genre: (in more ways than one.), BDSM, Cock Cages, Happy Ending, Kink, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 00:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4939555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben needs to relax, or this will never work. Ray shows him how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preposterous Cyborg Cock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesireeArmfeldt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Step Into the Ring for You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2416337) by [DesireeArmfeldt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldt). 



> Inspired by Desiree's BDSM series 'I'm Your Man,' it does not, however, occur in the same universe. The similarities are superficial. There are distinct differences in characterisation and mood. I could only link to one of the stories in the "I'm Your Man" 'verse, but don't let that stop you from reading it all. It's excellent.
> 
> In other news, for those who can't guess from the title, this is completely, irredeemably porn without a plot. Though at least it is porn with lots of feels. Don't read it you're easily offended, or squicked by men tying each other up and doing painful, sexy things.
> 
> Trolls will be incinerated.

 

This is not what I thought Ray had in mind when he suggested a new ‘experiment.’It’s preposterous. Of course, now that we’re doing it I can see that it’s perfectly in character – he does enjoy torturing me after all. As he said so long ago, we are a ‘duet.’ Our needs in this are complementary. But I have to say that I never foresaw... this.

 

“How on earth am I supposed to wear...” I look at the contraption and stutter. “I’m sorry, but seriously. This  _thing?”_

 

“Relax, Frase,” Ray says, with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Let me take care of it.” He is enjoying this far too much, and he hasn’t even said the words yet. I’m bound to the bed, he won’t say the words, and he wants me to  _relax?_  Never has meditative calm so utterly eluded me. I thought I knew all his tricks. My muscles are tense, and the organ concerned is not relaxed at all.

 

“If you don’t relax, then this won’t work, and I won’t be able to...” he pauses, trying to find the right word. “I won’t be able to reward you.”

 

“Oh God,” I groan, tug at the ropes, and flush. The leather round my wrists is softer than I like, but Ray insists on looking after me. When I am like this I want to be chafed and aching. It would match the tease in my blood, which is so hot within my skin that it burns. I am prickling with the heat. Already I’m sweating, and struggling to breathe, and  _I can’t relax. I can’t relax._  He chuckles, low and dirty in his throat.

 

“I ask for one thing,” he says. “Come on, give it to me.” He lets out a theatrical sigh. My eyes squeeze shut. I can’t bear to see his disappointment, even though this is only a game. Ray is going to punish me. My skin crawls, waiting for whatever he is going to give me. He draws out the moment, then lets his breath out with a rush.

 

“Hey, look at me, Ben.”

 

I look up at him. He frowns, worried. He can see that I’m already near tears. Which is a good thing. I need it, he knows I need it, but it’s hard for him sometimes.

 

He strokes his thumb beneath the socket of my left eye, then circles up to stroke my eyebrow. “You know I love you, yeah?” I murmur my assent –  _“yes”_  – and close my eyes as he leans in. He kisses my eyelids, the touch of his lips is as light as a raindrop. I want to kiss him back, to let him take my mouth, but he withdraws his head.

 

 “Would a blindfold help?” He quirks a grin. “So you can’t sneak a peek?”

 

_Yes, yes. Please. Take that choice away from me._

 

I nod, fervent in my gratitude, gazing up at him, knowing it could be a long time before he lets me see him again. But he’s right. The blindfold might help. Dizziness threatens to overwhelm me; I am slipping into character. He’s got me. Completely.

 

“Can I close my eyes, Sir?”

 

He smiles, his eyes warm with approval.

 

“Close your eyes,” he grants me. “But,” his voice holds a warning, “from now on, don’t speak until I tell you.”

 

My safe word is allowed, I know that much. He doesn’t know how often I can’t say it. And I won’t tell him – he would be appalled, and I never want him to stop these games.

 

I nod again, close my eyes and bite my lip. _Please God, let this help. Blind and dumb, let it help._ I can’t bear to disappoint him.

 

He lifts my head, cradles it for a moment, and trails the blindfold over my face. I flick my tongue out to taste the smooth slip of satin. He lets me suckle for a moment, then tugs it from my mouth, slaps my face. My head is heavy on the cradle of his hand. His lips touch the slight heat where he smacked me, his kiss so soft that my breath hitches. “Hold your head up.” I hold it steady as he secures it front and back with knots that I taught him. “You’re good, Ben,” he says, and I shudder. He nearly said the words. I’m shaking with anticipation. He settles my head back down, comfortable against the pillow, and strokes my hair.

 

“Relax,” he soothes. “Relax.”

 

_Relax or this won’t work. Relax or this won’t work._

I can’t relax. He knows it. His hand is stroking my chest now. My nipples tingle, waiting for the pinch. It doesn’t come.

 

“Don’t say a word,” Ray warns, his lips against my ear. “Don’t make a sound, no matter how much you want to.”

 

 _Oh God._  I am slipping, and fight for the control he will strip away from me.

 

“Please...” I can’t stop the word from bleeding out.

 

He grabs my cock, twists it and tugs it back from my belly, sharp. Then  _– crack._  My whole body jolts up to the shock of the cane. My hard-on jerks into his hand, awkward, painful, too much, not enough. I sob – I can’t stop myself – even as I try to push into his fist. He slaps again, this time with the flat of his hand. Again, a noise bleeds past my lips, a whimper. For a moment I hope he hasn’t heard it....

 

 _Crack._ The cane again, high on my chest –  _pectoralis major_ – and I’m harder than before.  _Crack._ Across my nipple, and I’m weeping with it, silently now. I lose count, though I know he’d never beat me too hard or too long. The marks will be beautiful. Tears soak the inner velvet of the blind. I twist my head, thrust into his dry hand although the angle is all wrong and it hurts. He takes his hand away, and I almost cry out.

 

“Don’t move,” he commands. I freeze. My head is turned against the pillow. Every muscle is a solid block of tension, fear and anticipation. My chest heaves, my blood hisses, my head pounds to the thunder of my heart. Runaway fear and pain, all twisted up into such a fierce knot of joy that I’ll never be untied.

 

I have words now, so many words. Words I can’t speak outside this room. Words that are heavy with meaning and rough beauty, and oh – I want to say them, please.  _Please, Sir, let me say them. I want to pray them, let me speak._

 

No voice, but I thank him for it. He has brought me to that place where I can think them. Not all the way yet – he hasn’t said  _his_  words, he hasn’t said  _the_  words – but already he has got me to the place where I can think –

 

_Cock. Fuck. Suck. Fuck me, Ray, Sir, please. Fuck. Make me come. Don’t let me come. Anything. Everything._

_Fuck._

 

I nearly say it, and as always he knows.

 

“What did I tell you?” Ray’s voice is gravel with warning.

 

I say nothing.

 

“Good boy,” he says. The mattress shifts as he gets off it. I hear him leave the room, the door snick shut. I squeeze my eyes even tighter, lie there listening to the silence. My blood rises to the welts across my belly and chest. It hurts. It hurts, and it is so good. I don’t know how long he will leave me this time. My cock is so hard it is standing almost upright. I can feel a string of pre-ejaculate trailing from it, and almost see the clear pearl track of it pooling on my belly.

 

 _Come,_  I think.  _Come. Please, Ray – Sir – come back. Please, let me come._

 

I am glad he tethered me. He has to tether me, or I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t let anyone in. It scares me how much I need him  _in._  I could drown completely. He tells me he would never let me drown, and he is right, of course he is, right about so many things. But does he know I  _want_ to drown? Could I ever dare to tell him that?  _Trust me,_  he says, and I do, I do. But I need pain and shame to hold me to the ground. I need  _him_  to hold me to the ground. Without someone to hold me I lose control entirely.

 

I need to lose control.

 

Ray left the window open. Far below us I can hear the sound of traffic, and now I know why the window is open. The warmth of soft October is caressing my hard on – that breeze the only touch on it, not enough, too much. I’m crying, silent in the room. My body aches to thrust into the empty air, but I am mindful that he told me not to move. I can’t reach it. I can’t moan. I can’t touch it. I can _not_  make it relax. He asked one thing of me and I can’t, I can’t –

 

 _“Relax,”_  he told me at the start.  _“Wait till you see it. You’ll love it, Ben.”_  And I’d thought – boastfully – that I could meet his challenge; that if he wanted me to relax I could damn well do it. And I did. Until he tied me down. Until he fixed the last knot and showed me  _it._

 

Will it be cold? Will it be heavy? How long does he want me to wear it for? Will it hurt?

 

I hear the door open, his soft tread on the carpet. I don’t know how long he’s been gone. A long time. I manage to not to moan my gratitude.

 

“You’re beautiful, Ben,” he says to me. The mattress rocks as he moves between my wide open thighs – I am so exposed for him, everything open. He wraps his hand around me. Smooth, and oh, slick. His hand is slick. He’s warmed it up for me, and he’s spreading it all over my cock and balls. “You like that?”

 

I don’t make a sound. I don’t even move my head, one cheek still pressed against the pillow.

 

He gives my cock an affectionate squeeze and then – _oh thank God_ \- the words.

 

“Are you going to be good for me?”

 

I fall, a swift rush, and don’t hit bottom. A deep well of peace swallows me whole. His voice and his hand on my cock are the only things that tether me to the world. Pure pain in the pleasure now, pure pleasure in the pain. He could do anything to me, I would let him.

 

“Where are you, Ben?” His voice reaches through my trance. My tongue is heavy in my mouth, and I nearly speak; I can’t break silence. He is trying to trick me.  _Clever Ray. Wicked Ray._  He chuckles.

 

“Good boy.”

 

I’m sinking deeper into it with every breath. “Don’t move,” he reminds me, and I don’t move. He twists and pinches, random points along my body. I see each point of contact flower behind my eyelids. The pain flares for a moment, iridescent, then blossoms to purple. They will bruise. Let them bruise.

 

“Don’t make a sound,” he warns and twists my nipple hard. I don’t make a sound. He shifts, further down, the movement bucking the bed while his hand still moves steadily on my cock. A finger slides inside me, rolls, teases me open, followed by another, followed by –

 

Something pushes up inside me, not his cock. He never lets me see this toy. It’s vibrating, and I’m sure I look ridiculous, but I don’t care. The thing is sending bright jolts of pleasure all through me. It’s relentless, almost unbearable. Still I don’t move. He shifts the angle, pushes it further in. It hits my sweet spot, and my cock jerks, leaking, but the rest of me doesn’t move.

 

“Good boy.” Ray bites my nipple, sucks hard. He approves, the bite a reward, and my heart swells with pride. I can take it. Anything he wants to do, everything he wants to give me. I can take it. I can take him.

 

“Open your mouth,” he says, and I open it. “Bite down.” I bite. He’s gagging me. I know this one, I know the taste of the rubber bulb in my mouth. “Bite,” he repeats. “Bite hard.” I bite, and for a moment his hand leaves my cock, as he buckles the gag tight. I feel him leaning across me, and the coldness of the bell he places in my right hand. “If you need me to stop,” he says, “let go.” My fist clenches around the bell. I won’t drop it. I swear I won’t drop it. His free hand turns my head away from the pillow so that I am facing up. He strokes my lips around the gag, then presses his hand down hard against my face, blocking my air. I bite the gag harder, but manage not to spasm. He keeps his hand on my face until my heart is pounding, my lungs are burning. Every sensation is too much, not enough. The thing inside me keeps moving, and one hand – the slick one – grabs my cock again. It keeps pumping, steady and smooth while the other hand crushes my face.

 

“You don’t breathe till I tell you too,” he says into my ear, then bites it, hard. I keen in my throat and he bites again. I can’t breathe, can’t breathe, I need to breathe, I need to come, I’m going to –

 

“Don’t come,” he growls, and I don’t come. The blindfold is soaking wet now; tears are oozing past it, dripping in my ears. The sheet beneath me is hot, uncomfortable with my sweat. “Good.” Approval again. “Are you going to be good for me?” Oh God, deeper yet. I’m falling, even as my chest is bursting for breath. “That’s so good, Ben, you’re so good.” He releases his grip on my face, and I forget and groan against the gag, chest heaving to suck in more air. I can’t get enough air. Dizzy, so dizzy, and I groan again. He smacks me – “No noises,” then licks my throat, touches my jugular with his teeth. For a moment I think he’s going to bite and I forget again. I twist my head back against the pillow, expose my throat. He doesn’t bite, and he doesn’t punish me. The hand on my cock keeps moving, and he rests his head on my chest. “Shush,” he tells me. “You’re okay. Breathe.” My breath steadies and I lie still. His hand continues its motion, as inexorable in its own way as the toy inside me. I am weeping silently. Each slide of his slick hand trances me further, each slow drag up and down. There is nothing but sensation now, nothing but his voice....

 

“Relax,” he says, and “you’re good. Beautiful Ben. You’re so good. ”

 

I am so deep down the well now. I’m not afraid anymore. I may never come up. I don’t want to come up. I want to drown.

 

“When I tell you to come,” he says,  _“when_  I say it, not before, then you can come.” My breathing hitches. “And when you come, not before,  _then_  you can shout.” I’m trembling now, I don’t know how to last. I have to obey him, I have to make this last.

 

He moves again, takes me in his mouth, nips beneath my crown, just this side of pain. It makes me want to scream, it makes me want to come. It’s so good, it’s so terrible. How can he tell me to come with my cock in his mouth? He can’t tell me. I need to move, to thrust up into that wet warm mouth. He won’t let me. His arm is pressing hard across my hips. He doesn’t trust me not to move, he knows how near I am.

 

_I want to come. I need to come. Please, please let me. I have to come._

 

He slips his mouth off me, lifts his arm away from my hips. No touch at all now. No hand, no mouth, no weight – just the cold air from the open window, and my wet cock shivering in it. The sun must be setting, and I’ve lost all sense of time. For a moment I think he will leave me again – sometimes he leaves me like this for hours, once all night. I want that and I fear it. I want to wait forever, I need to come now. I want his mouth on me, his hand, anything, anything, anything at all. I want to, I need to –

 

“Come,” he says.

 

My body arches off the bed; pain, pleasure,  _everything_  shoots out of me. I scream into the gag.

~*~

 

Afterwards I lie, drifting. I feel drunk, every limb, every muscle limp and loose. He hasn’t said the words to bring me back yet, and I hope he never does. He has untied me, ungagged me, taken off the blindfold, taken out the toy. He has massaged me all over, put ointment where he can see that I am hurt. I would tell him not to bother, that I love the hurt, that I relish it. But he needs this. He needs to show me that he cares.

 

I know he cares. He has kissed me, and loved me, and cleansed me of my come. He has cherished me. I feel it all over my skin.

 

“Roll over,” he says, and I roll. His fingers enter me again, soft and sweet, where I am relaxed now, still aching from the toy. I tingle to Ray’s touch as he slicks me inside and out. His tongue flutters against me, behind my balls, with just the threat of teeth. He blows against me where I am covered with his spit. Cold, and I shiver. He lifts my hips, slides a pillow beneath me.

 

“Comfortable?” he asks as he lines himself up.

 

“Yes,” I slur against the mattress.

 

“Good,” he says, then pushes into my hole. He knows I love this too. He doesn’t know that I love it this way  _because_  it hurts. When we do it outside of the games it’s different. Now I want the pain. But no matter how deep he trances me, I’ll never tell him that it hurts.

 

He is big and blunt as he thrusts in, and I groan. Oh, yes, it does hurt; the right kind of hurt, the warm deep burning hurt. Hurt that my body will remember for days. It will remember it in the bruises underneath my clothes. It will remember it in the swift stripes of the cane. And this hurt as he pushes in, the cock hurt, like every other hurt I manage to pull out of him, like  _all_  of his hurts; they tell me that he loves me.

 

He meets some resistance and pushes harder. I thrust my butt up toward him and he cries out in surprise as he slams against my prostate. “Please,” I babble because I can talk now. He lets me talk. “Please.” He starts moving then, hitting the right spot with every single thrust, and I shove back into him. The pain is twisted up with pleasure, but will have no relief. I am so well fucked, so well spent that I can’t come. And here, now? I don’t want to ever come again. I could do this forever, live in this moment forever. No desperate rush, the only urgency his rhythm within me. I want to meet it, I want to give him joy in it.

 

Now he is the one sobbing, the one desperate to come. I feel him inside of me and squeeze. I want him in me so far, so tight he can never come out. I want to know that he is as much a slave to this as I am.

 

He thrusts harder and faster, and I egg him on, edge him on, pushing back at him for every thrust. I push and clench, push and clench.  I am biting my forearm, but he is the one who is losing control. Harder, faster, and he forgets to be gentle; I welcome it, I urge him. Push, hold, pull – pleasure-pain. Does it hurt him too? It sounds like he is hurting. I want to stop, want to ask him ‘does it hurt?’ but – no. No. I can’t stop now, can’t ask. He is so big and hard inside of me. His thrusting blinds me. He bites my shoulder. The sharpness of it makes me sob, although I am soft and limp against the pillow. He is hard and hot, and in me, in me, thrusting, and he comes. A hot flash, heat surging up deep inside of me. Pulse after pulse, and I pray that it won’t stop. He is buried balls-deep in me, and he comes and comes and comes.

 

He drops, lies heavy across my back; his cock softens and slips out. Already I miss it. I feel his tears cooling on the nape of my neck, and he licks them away.

 

When his breath is steady again he shifts, lifts himself off me. I don’t know how long it’s been, and my back is cold.

 

“Roll over,” he says again. Obedient, I roll. “Open your eyes,” he says. I open them. I hadn’t known that they were shut.

 

He has the ‘object’ back in his hand. The thing he presented me with when this started. He smiles at me.

 

“Remember I told you to relax?”

 

I nod, my mind foggy.

 

“Are you relaxed?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I thought so.” He smiles and moves alongside me. “You’re good for me, Ben. So good for me.”

 

Impossibly, I drop further into trance.

 

“Look at me.”

 

I look.

 

“Wow,” he says and laughs. His face is full of affection as he strokes my cheek. “You look so stoned.”

 

I can’t speak so I smile. I suppose he is right.

 

“Look down,” he says. “Look at what I’m doing.”

 

I look, and this time the thing doesn’t look preposterous, or terrifying, or strange at all. In fact, it is beautiful, with its chrome and metal shine.

 

He can do this to me. Of course he can.

 

“What are you thinking, Ben?”

 

I move my lips. Nothing comes out.

 

“Hey, Ben, you can speak. What are you thinking?”

 

“Everything,” I say, my mouth numb and my tongue thick, “everything you do to me is wonderful.”

 

He kisses me, then speaks. His voice sounds vulnerable and strange. “You think?”

 

I nod, solemnly. The room is out of focus, but his face is clear. His face the realest thing I see. I love his face. “I think.”

 

“So, can I do this?”

 

“Yes.”

 

This time, when he tries, the cock cage slips on easily. I am limp, fucked out, happy. He fastens it, his hands steady, and secures it with a padlock. I giggle. I’ll have to walk carefully or it will rattle.

 

“See? When you relax it’s good, isn’t it?” He looks at me quizzically. “Say something.”

 

“‘Something.’”

 

“Say something else.” He glares at me before I can repeat his words. “No, really. What are you thinking?”

 

“I look like a cyborg.”

 

He laughs. “I can’t believe you even know what a cyborg is. You’ve been holding out on me.”

 

“I read it in a book.”

 

“Sure you did.” He pats my face. “And you saw it on Star Trek.”

 

“Terminator,” I murmur. “But Arnold Schwarzenegger doesn’t have a cyborg cock.” I consider that. “Well, I don’t think he does.”

 

“I knew that high culture thing was an act.”

 

I don’t bother to reply. I don’t think he needs an answer to that, and I am too lazy to think.

 

“You are  _totally_  out of it,” he says and kisses me on the lips. I open my mouth, and we kiss for a long time. “Yeah,” he says, and grins. “Totally gone.”

 

“Gone where?”

 

He snorts. “Okay. Tonight I’m gonna let you sleep it off. You don’t have to come back till morning.”

 

Oh, that’s so kind. I can stay safe here now. Not forever, but for a night. “Thank you, Sir.”

 

“You can call me ‘Ray’ again.”

 

“Ray,” I say, happily. “My Ray.”

 

“Yeah,” he says, and touches my smile with the back of his hand. “I’m your Ray. And you’re my Ben.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And before you go to sleep, just so you know...” I’m drifting, and his voice sharpens. “Hey, pay attention.”

 

I blink awake. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay." It is. It really is. "So, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re gonna learn how to wear this thing.” I look down at the cage. I like it already. “You let me put it on you, and you let me take it off.”

 

“Yes... Ray.” I almost called him ‘Sir.’

 

“Every day,” he continues. “I promise you'll like it." He smiles. "We’ll work up to it.”

 

“Yes.” I smile back up at him. I trust him completely.

 

“You know what you’ve said yes to?”

 

“No.”

 

He shakes his head, fond and exasperated.  “You’re gonna get used to wearing it, till you can walk around with it all day.”

 

“Yes. Ray.” Not ‘Sir.’ Ray.

 

“It won't let you touch yourself,” he warns. “You won’t be able to feel yourself, and even when you want to get hard, it won’t let you.”

 

“Can I piss?” I ask, and giggle. He laughs back.

 

“Yeah, you can piss. Think I’d pick something with a design flaw?”

 

I shake my head. Of course he wouldn’t. Kind Ray. Clever Ray.

 

“And when you’re ready,” he promises me, “you’re gonna walk around with it for  _days._  You’re gonna let me clean you, let me take care of you.”

 

I love that. He’ll take care of me. “Please.” 

 

“Good, Ben. You’re so good to me.”

 

I’m falling away into perfect peace.

 

“I love you.”

 

I don’t know which one of us says it first, but it echoes in my head, call and response. Duet.

 

“Sleep well, Ben.” He kisses my forehead. “You’re going to feel wonderful in the morning.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when ushobwri posts a series of Monster Prompts for October. I may have taken the theme of 'Experimentation' into a different direction from the scifi prompt,but you know me. My mind is in the gutter.


End file.
